A Ghost of a Chance
by emergencyfan
Summary: Carson crashes a jumper.
1. Chapter 1

_Eh, I'm not all that happy with the fic and plan to rewrite it at some point in the future, so constructive feedback would be greatly appreciated._

_Not mine. Don't own'em. Didn't create 'em. Stargate Atlantis and all related characters are the property of MGM as far as I can tell._

_Thanks to my beta reader, NebbyJen._

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**A Ghost of a Chance**

"No! No no no no no NO!" Carson demanded, as he wrestled with the controls. But did it do him any good? Of course not. The puddlejumper crashed to earth in an almost gleeful defiance of his wishes, the momentum carrying it into the nearby river before burying its nose in the soft mud of the river bottom. The inertial dampeners had predictably failed, along with the majority of the controls, when the power had suddenly fluctuated. Sheppard and McKay may have been able to avoid crashing, but he had had neither the technical expertise nor the flying skills necessary to do so. He wasn't sure who would be more pissed at him for wrecking the jumper - Rodney or the Major. "Ancient technology hates me," he gasped dizzily.

After lying still for several minutes, he concluded that he had indeed survived. A few more minutes and he decided that it was time to peel himself off the control console and radio Atlantis for help. He eased himself up slowly and carefully…

_Apparently not slowly or carefully enough_ was his thought as he regained consciousness sometime later, still lying crumpled on the panel. Okay, well, while he was there, he might as well make the best of things. He gingerly raised his left arm and flipped the communication switch near his nose. Nothing. No answering reply from Atlantis, no static, no nothing. He closed his eyes and calmed the panic that was beginning form. When he didn't appear as scheduled to deliver the agreed-upon medical supplies, the Tarns would call Atlantis…eventually.

The puddle jumper shifted suddenly in the mud, tipping slightly towards the rear. He grabbed at the console frantically, gasping as the movement sent waves of pain through his body. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears in time to his heartbeat. It seemed to be whispering urgently, "Get out…Get out…Get out."

"Okay," agreed Beckett. Even damaged, the ship was probably still airtight - 'air' being the operative word. If the jumper submerged completely, chances are he'd run out of that precious commodity before anyone found him, assuming they could even find the submerged jumper.

He eased himself off the controls and back into the pilot's chair and waited for the blackness around the edge of his vision to recede. That step accomplished fairly successfully, he tried to stand. He had to duck his head at first to keep from blacking out, but eventually he was able to make it into a fairly upright stance. It didn't help that the jumper was leaning at a forty-five degree angle.

If luck were with him, the rear of the tilted vessel would still be above water. He stumbled to the back and opened the hatch. Even as he did so, he could feel the ship tip due to the shift in weight causing it to slip further toward the river bottom and several gallons of icy water to splash into the jumper and over his feet. Primal fear made it possible for him to ignore most of the pain as he grabbed his medical pack. He hugged it tightly to his chest and jumped for the bank after palming the door control.

He was shocked by the intensity of the freezing water and gasped painfully for air. Struggling to remain conscious and keep his head above water, he grabbed desperately at the muddy, slippery bank. A soft sucking sound from behind caused him to look back over his shoulder and watch as the jumper slid slowly beneath the surface. _Rodney will at least be happy I remembered to close the door._

The frigid water was helping to keep his head clear. Carson struggled to raise his waterlogged pack and toss it up the three feet of embankment. That's when he decided that he had probably cracked or broken several ribs and found himself taking several short shallow breaths as the cold, once his friend, quickly began to turn his arms and legs to lead weights.

Exhausted, he leaned his aching head against the muddy bank and said a brief prayer as he tried to summon enough strength to haul himself up. The frigid waters pulled tirelessly at him and he felt himself slipping further down.

"Give me your hand."

He looked up to see a hand reaching out to him and grasped at it eagerly with his right, groaning in pain as he stretched and strained to find some purchase on the muddy bank with his boots. He finally managed to get some momentum and grabbed at the long weeds that lined the edge with his free hand, pulling himself out.

He stayed on his hands and knees for several minutes until he felt steady enough to look up at his benefactor…_benefactress_, he corrected. "Thank you, lass."

She smiled, "You may call me Edmé."

It seemed a strangely familiar name for someone on planet in the Pegasus Galaxy. In fact, the woman looked as though she was wearing something from early in earth's eighteenth century. A pale green underdress peaked through a darker green overdress and bodice. Her feet were bare even in the current chill of early winter. Her eyes were an intense green and her auburn hair formed long ringlets down her back. He blinked several times, trying to make sense of it and finally decided it made his head hurt too much. They had found many cultures here that mirrored those on earth, why should this place be any different? "My name is Carson," he managed to get out through chattering teeth.

"Come Carson, it will be a cold night and you need shelter." She touched his arm in encouragement, sending a flood of warmth through him.

"Do you live nearby?" he asked, making it to his feet with her support.

"Yes and no," she replied with a shy smile.

He would have pressed her for further details but he found he had to focus all his attention on putting one foot in front of the other and not falling flat on his face.

Twenty minutes later he wasn't sure he had the strength to continue. "Where are we going?" Not that it mattered; he was far too exhausted by this time to take in their surroundings in the fast approaching darkness.

"It is not far now. There is a cave nearby where you can spend the night in safety," she told him, catching his arm as he stumbled. He felt another flush of warmth at her touch.

A little while later, they finally stopped. He stood unsteadily and managed with some effort to focus his eyes warily on the dark hole in front of them. "Are you sure it's safe?"

"You are safe with me," she assured him, leading him into the cave.

With deliberate slowness, he collapsed gratefully onto the cold cave floor and sat there for a few moments just happy not to have to move. The persistent ache in his side had gone from dull to piercing and now demanded his undivided attention. He dragged the pack closer to him and pulled out a large rolled ace bandage. "Can you give me a hand with this?"

She knelt down beside him and helped him off with his jacket, before wrapping the bandage tightly around his ribs. When they were done, the physician took a careful shallow breath and was heartened to find the bandage, while uncomfortable, did seem to be supporting his injured ribs. A quick exam revealed a large knot on his forehead but he was relieved to find no evidence of a skull fracture. He probably had one heck of a concussion though. Downing several Tylenol, he scooted back a little so that he could lean against the cave wall to further eased the strain on his sore ribs.

A sudden low, long howl made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Several more mournful wails answered. "What's that!"

"Bearwolves."

"Werewolves?"

She smiled at him. "Bearwolves. They hunt bear in packs." At his fearful look, she continued, "You are safe here, I promise."

"Are you sure about that?"

"They will not enter _this_ cave," she assured him.

"If you say so," he said, somewhat skeptically.

"Rest," she said, touching his forehead gently. "I will keep watch."

A warm languid feeling washed over him as he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "That's the best offer I've had all day, lass."

He awoke feeling a little better and watched quietly as Edmé laid out a pile of kindling next to him. She smiled when she saw he had awakened. "Here," she said, handing him the canteen. He drank thirstily, then reached into the outer pocket of the backpack and pulled out two power bars, offering her one.

She shook her head. "I am not hungry, but do not let that stop you."

Carson put one of the bars away in case she changed her mind. He broke open the other one and bit down with a grimace, forcing himself to swallow. "I don't see how Rodney stands these things."

"'Rodney' is a friend of yours?"

"Yes. No. Well…yes, I guess he is," he said, surprised, wondering when the relationship had changed from that of strictly doctor-patient…or astrophysicist-guinea pig.

She smiled and stacked the last of the wood to form a cone before sitting back on her heels. "You will have to light it."

A dig through his pack was rewarded with a packet of waterproof matches. It took him a couple of tries to get the tinder to light. He leaned down and blew on the tiny flames to encourage them…

"_That was a mistake_," he thought groggily when he came to, vowing to remember to fan the flames with his hand next time. The fire had grown to cheery blaze and his pants were dry which made him wonder how long he had been out. Edmé was nowhere to be seen. He hoped she was okay. His jacket was laid out nearby to dry by the fire and the canteen had been refilled and placed within easy reach. Making himself as comfortable as he could on the hard floor, he shoved the now dry pack under his aching head and tried to rest.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time he woke, it was morning and he was feeling, if possible, even worse. Bruised and stiffened muscles screamed in protest as he sat up. His stomach seemed equally upset by the whole experience and his head pounded with every beat of his heart.

The air in the cave was chilly but not freezing and he could see a light dusting of snow had fallen on a rock just outside the entrance. The fire had died down to bare coals, though there was a stack of wood nearby. He had apparently been too tired to notice it earlier. Stacking a few more pieces of wood on the fire, he carefully waved the flattened cardboard box from the ace bandage until the bark caught. Pulling out another powerbar, he began to snap off small bite sized pieces; washing it down with a swallows from his canteen. It was making him nauseous but he knew he needed to eat. He pulled on his jacket, pleasantly warm from the fire's heat and contemplated whether he had enough strength to make it back to where the jumper had disappeared. It would be the most likely place a search party would look for him but he worried about his chances of finding it on his own considering how out of it he had been on their trek to the cave. He had just made the decision to go when his lovely savior reappeared in the entrance of the cave. "Edmé, I'm glad you're safe. Where were you last night?"

"Nearby, keeping watch," she replied enigmatically.

"Will you take me back to the river? It is probably where my friends will start searching for me."

"Not now. A storm approaches. Even if your friends are looking for you, they will have to take cover until it has run its course."

He was greatly disappointed by the news but tried not to let it show. After all, the weather wasn't her fault. "I'm lucky you're here then. I would have been caught out in it."

"Yes," she agreed, smiling.

He helped himself to more Tylenol, realizing that the best thing he could do at this point was to get as much rest as possible; and that wasn't going to happen with every muscle and joint shouting disapproval at its use. He arranged the pack and tried lying on his good side. It was then he noticed she still wasn't wearing anything on her feet.

"You're going to get frostbite," he warned, concerned.

She looked down, as if surprised to realize she wasn't wearing any shoes and shrugged. "I have not worn shoes in a very long time." She sat down beside him. "But you are kind to be concerned. Sleep, it will help the time pass faster," she said, touching his forehead.

When he woke, she was gone again and the wind was howling outside. Some snow had blown in the opening, but as the cave entrance seemed to be facing away from the onslaught, it had only dampened a few inches of floor; leaving him and his belongings safe and dry. Convincing himself that Edmé obviously knew the area well and was in no danger, he threw a couple more logs on the fire and went back to sleep.

"Carson? Carson can you hear me?"

It wasn't the words so much as the painful shaking that accompanied them that woke him. "Ease off," he snapped, gasping, his arm tightening around his chest to protect his sore ribs. Opening his eyes revealed a very concerned Rodney McKay kneeling by a long dead fire. "Cracked ribs," he said by way of explanation.

Rodney looked a little guilty. "Sorry." He helped the injured doctor sit up, wincing sympathetically when he saw the large bruise on Beckett's forehead.

Sheppard, standing a little behind McKay, tapped his earpiece. "We've got him." Carson couldn't hear the response but he was suddenly the recipient of a long, appraising gaze. "Looks like hell, but seems to be in one piece." More mumbling then, "No, we'd better come back for the jumper later. Yeah, I think that's going to be the best way to go. Okay, see you on top." He tapped the radio off. "Come on, Doc, let's get you out of here and back to Atlantis," he said, leaning down to offer him a hand. Between that and Rodney's help, they managed to get the weary Scot on his feet.

"There were a few moments of sheer panic until we realized you weren't still in the jumper," McKay said as they walked to the entrance of the cave. "Of course, the thought of you wandering around wasn't reassuring either, considering the enormous size of the carnivores we've seen in the area."

"Good thing you thought to leave us that sign or we'd've never found you all the way up here," added the major.

"What sign?"

"You know, the honking big arrow in the snow pointing towards this cave?" said Sheppard, exchanging a concerned glance with Rodney at Beckett's obvious confusion. "Just how hard _did_ you hit your head, Doc?"

Beckett's hand went unconsciously to his forehead as he stepped out of the cave entrance.

"Woah, Doc!" Sheppard exclaimed, grabbing the injured man's arm to keep him from walking off into thin air.

Looking down, Carson was startled to realize the cave he had slept in was on the edge of a steep cliff with only a small ledge at the entrance keeping him from a sheer 100 foot drop. He was suddenly overcome by vertigo. Sheppard pushed him back against the cliff face and kept him pinned there with his forearm until it passed.

"Sorry," the Scot apologized shakily.

"How the hell did you get all the way up here anyway?" McKay asked.

"Edmé."

"What's an edmé?"

"She's not a what, she's a she." By the look Sheppard and McKay exchanged, they definitely thought he was a few bricks short of a load. "You know, one of the natives? Dressed like a Medieval princess? She must live somewhere nearby."

"The Tarns are post-industrial," said McKay.

"Not a medieval dress in the bunch, Doc," Sheppard assured him.

"Maybe it was your guardian angel," joked McKay. "Next, you'll be telling us she _flew _you up here."

He ignored the scientist's sarcasm and put aside his own questions for the moment. "I'm more worried about how we're going to get _down_ from here." He knew he was in no condition for such a climb.

"Not down, Doc, up." Sheppard pointed to the top of the cliff above them. It was only ten feet or so higher than their current position. "Markham and Ford are going to park the jumper topside and lower a rope." As if on cue, the jumper flew over their heads and landed.

It took Ford and Markham less time to pull them up than it did to rig a harness for Beckett that wouldn't put any pressure on his ribs.

"What's wrong, Carson?" asked McKay as they walked the short distance to the parked jumper. "You look pensive. Waiting for the other shoe to drop?"

"I wrecked the jumper," he said, not willing to endure Rodney's scoffing about a 'guardian angel' again.

"You know the old saying, Doc, 'any landing you can walk away from'," quipped Sheppard; then he grinned and amended, "or swim away from."

McKay waved it off as well. "It's fixable."

Sheppard ducked his head to enter the ship. "We're just glad you're alright."

"Three days of frantic searching softened them up a bit," confided Ford quietly, making sure Beckett was settled comfortably in his seat.

"Three days? Has it been that long?" He asked, surprised. Closing his eyes tiredly, he leaned his head back against the chair enjoying the luxury of a padded headrest.

"Four, actually," said McKay. "It was a whole day before the Tarns got around to calling us."

"We wasted several days searching in the wrong place. You were way off course, Doc," said Ford, settling in the seat beside his. "In fact we'd still be searching if that woman hadn't seen the jumper flying west of where we were looking."

"What woman?" Carson asked sharply, instantly alert and pinning Ford with an intense stare.

"Um…" Ford hesitated, surprised by the doctor's sudden change. "Just some woman..."

"Describe her," he insisted.

Ford shot McKay a 'what do I do?' look.

Rodney shrugged. "Go ahead."

"Um…let's see, she was about five foot five, a hundred and ten pounds - give or take…"

"Long red hair and intense green eyes?" asked Beckett.

"Yeah," said Ford, surprised.

"How about a medieval dress?" Sheppard jokingly added.

"No," Ford confirmed, shaking his head. "In fact," he continued, frowning, "she was wearing a green mini-dress, looked a little like one my high school girlfriend use to wear. That's really strange, isn't it? That's nothing like the people on this planet usually wear."

"Ghostly apparition," said Rodney mysteriously, waving his fingers at Sheppard.

"Actually, Doc," said Ford turning to McKay, "she was looking for you."

"What?" McKay squeaked, dropping his hands nervously.

"Yeah, now that I think about it, she did ask for you specifically…and by your first name, too. When I told her you'd gone to the chancellor's office for maps, she said she could give me the message and told me where she had seen the jumper."

McKay managed to look both uncomfortable and skeptical at the direction the conversation was taking. "You're just now mentioning this?"

"Well, at the time, the only thing that seemed important was that someone had seen the jumper," said Ford, a little defensively.

"Angel, ghost, fairy godmother - who cares so long as you're not a McBeckett Deluxe," said Sheppard, preparing to lift off.

"Or a Carsonsicle," agreed Ford, smiling at his own cleverness. "What?" he asked as Sheppard shot him an annoyed glance. "You know, 'cause it was so cold and all."

As the jumper ascended off the plateau, Beckett thought he saw a figure in green at the edge of the forest waving. "Major," he started.

"What?" asked Sheppard, shooting him an inquiring glance over his shoulder.

Carson looked back down but all he saw were green trees waving in the breeze. "Nevermind."

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_AN: __Was that a cliché ending or what? ;-)  
__Edmé is a name of Scottish origin meaning "protector". I thought it was an appropriate choice for this story._


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